Live and Let Live
by Travelbugs
Summary: In 1970, it appears as though America is on the verge of collapse. Racial tensions and war protests are tearing the nation apart. But just when America is about to lose hope, England comes along with an unexpected solution: A vacation to London. NOT USUK! Rated T for language and drug use.
1. Prologue: Never Trust the Man

**Hello, and welcome to the 70's. (Or shall we say, Gimme some skin, man!)**

**First off, let's just get it out there that this is not a pairing fanfiction. USUK is there if you squint, but we are NOT going to make this yaoi. There will be history and friendship and feels, and it is going to be awesome! (I mean, far out!) There will also be drug use, but WE ARE IN NO WAY ENDORSING THE USE OF DRUGS. All of the drugs referred to in this story are bad for you. Don't use them. Ever. **

**This story is a collaboration, meaning that I (Slovenskych) will write the first few chapters, and Nymphy-Ryuu-chan will write the rest. Hippie slang "translations" and history notes are found at the bottom. We hope you enjoy!**

**Ryuu-chan's note: Hello, everyone! Nice to meet y'all! As Slo said, she'll be writing the first chapters (with a few suggestions every now and then from me), then I'll take over the world. Er, the story, the story of course (With a few suggestions every now and then from her). Also, don't mind her, I'm not confident my part is going to be that awesome, but hey, I'll do my best!**

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><p><strong>Prologue: Never Trust the Man<strong>

_Four people including two women were shot and killed on Kent State University today during renewed demonstrations involving hundreds of students. Six people were reported shot in addition to those killed. The four were killed during a clash between the students and members of the Ohio National Guard near University Commons. Brigadier General Robert Canterbury, assistant General of Ohio, said the fatal shootings occurred as a group of guardsmen were moving back to the commons, after dispersing several hundred students with tear gas. __"__The order was given to return to the Commons," General Canterbury said, "and as the troops moved out, a crowd estimated at several hundred closed in and assaulted the guardsmen with rocks and pieces of concrete. A single shot was fired," the officer added, "Closely followed by several other shots, these by guardsmen." __Officers with the guard immediately ceased fire and continued to move to the commons where ambulances were dispatched to move the casualties. This is John Preston Smith reporting from Kent State University for WKSU News._

Alfred bolted up the hill to where the shiny black helmets of the National Guard stood poised. He could see their rifles, black, sick, guilty of treason. His breath burned down his throat, heart roaring against his ribcage, eyesight blurred with the hot tears that seared down his cheeks.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" He screamed. It was stupid, he knew it. Throwing a tantrum would do nothing to fix what had just happened, but he was so angry and lost and scared he _didn't know what else to do._ "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THIS COUNTRY! IT WAS YOUR JO-OB!" Alfred's voice cracked and he fell to his knees. He curled his fingers around the grass, trying to control the hysteria that was making him choke on his own breath.

_Oh God, please tell me this is a dream..._

"Alfred!" a woman's voice screamed. "Alfred, we have to leave!"

He shook his head_, _eyes still locked onto the Guard. "No… no…"

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he looked up to see a hippie girl, her forest green eyes wild with panic. "Come _on!"_ She grabbed his wrist and forced him to his feet, dragging him away. He stumbled after her, his legs like jelly, words tumbling out of his mouth in a helpless mantra.

"No, no, no, no…Oh my god… oh my go-od…"

He kept turning back and staring at the motionless bodies on the ground, willing them to stand up and dust off their pants. He wanted them to laugh and say, "It was totally a joke, dudes! All part of the demonstration, dig it?"

But nobody got up from the dead. Not Kennedy. Not King. Not the soldiers in Nam. And yet still Alfred was foolish enough to stare at their faces in the in the coffins, on the jungle floor, and wait for them to open their eyes and smile at him one more time.

_Hey, America. Mind watching the kids for me this afternoon?_

_No problem, John. _

It was all a blur. The screams, the sirens, the streaks of people running in all directions. Alfred watched the scene as if he were a spirit inside of someone else's body. A familiar weight of guilt crushed him, telling him that he should have been able to stop this. But the question screamed in his head, uselessly trying to justify himself: _How could I have known… How could I have known... **  
><strong>_

Somehow he ended up in the back of the Volkswagen van, squished between his fellow hippies. Their faces were ghostly white with shock, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.

Frank shook his head. "Now the fuzz are shooting white people, too. This isn't about race anymore, dudes. This is might as well be the fuckin' Soviet Union."

Alfred's throat tightened. He turned to the girl sitting next to him, the one who had dragged him away. He had to struggle to find his voice before he managed to croak,

"Jen?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what the First Amendment of the Constitution says?"

She shook her head. "Alfred, just look outside. There ain't no Constitution no more."

At those words, it felt like someone had reached into his throat and turned his stomach inside-out. Alfred staggered across the van and opened the door to wretch into the parking lot. He stared at the splatter of blood in horror. **  
><strong>

_No Constitution… Jesus Christ, I'm dying. _

After climbing back into his seat, Alfred covered his face with his hands and started crying. He cried and he cried, and he couldn't make himself stop.

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><p><strong>Hippie Slang:<strong>

**The Man - anyone in authority, usually the government.**

**Nam - Vietnam**

**dig it? - get it?**

**the fuzz - the police**

**History Notes:**

**The Kent State Shootings occurred on May 4th, 1970. Hundreds of students were protesting an announcement made in April by President Nixon that the Vietnam war would be expanded into Cambodia. They backed the National Guard into a corner and started throwing rocks. The Guard felt threatened, and in their panic and confusion, fired into the crowd. The guardsmen fired 67 rounds over a period of 13 seconds, killing four students and wounding nine others, one of whom suffered permanent paralysis. (I copied the news report from a 1970 recording, so it's only natural that some of the information was incorrect)  
><strong>

**The Shooting caused the only nationwide student strike in U.S. history. Over 4 million students protested and over 900 American colleges and universities closed during the student strikes. Protests in D.C. were so violent that President Nixon had to be kept in Camp David for his own protection.**

**John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, an event that shattered America, and in my headcanon, would have deeply hurt Alfred even years later. Martin Luther King Jr. was also assassinated in 1968. **

**The First Amendment of the Constitution gives the right to peaceful protest and freedom of speech. **

**AN: So as you can see, 1970's America was not a fun place to be. We'll see more of how messed up Alfred is in future chapters... and hopefully Arthur will come to the rescue! Thank you for reading, and reviews are much loved!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Wrong Side of America

**Time for story interaction! You should look up 'Let it Be' by the Beatles. ;)**

**Also... cigarettes are bad for you. But in the 70's nobody seemed to realize that yet. (Arthur smokes too; the only reason he keeps declining is because he's wary of drugs.)**

**Note: As it so happens, I am American, not British. I _did_ get to stay at an Englishman's house for two weeks this summer, so hopefully I have a pretty good grasp on the speech... but just a fair warning, it might be wrong. And the spellings are still American because that would just get confusing. But if any of you lovely folks from the UK want to help me out on the dialogue, that would be brilliant. :)**

**Ok, enough blabber... enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Wrong Side of America<strong>

There were a few things that Arthur could not fathom about America.

One of them was why the entire country drove on the wrong side of the road. Or why America couldn't get better public transportation. Honestly_._ Not only would the wasteful nation be saving on gas, but then he wouldn't have to be stuck in this God-awful Chicago traffic.

Arthur resisted the urge to slam his head on the wheel_. _He hadn't even met America yet, and he already had a headache. Correction: he'd had a headache for the past _three days. _"He'd better be here…" Arthur grumbled to nobody in particular. He had heard that the largest peace convention in response to the Kent State shootings was being held in Chicago. If America wasn't here, he hadn't the slightest idea as to where to look next.

America hadn't been to a World Meeting in over a year. Arthur had started to get nervous, and every time he asked Matthew how his brother was doing, the Canadian only shook his head. "He's real sick," Matthew had said. "Too many voices in his head at once. He told me he's trying to get better, but I don't think the drugs are helping."

And so Arthur was left to scrounge what information he could from BBC news updates. Every time America was mentioned, it was a confusing collage of peace and violence. _Three hundred American Soldiers were killed in an ambush near Saigon today. President Nixon assures that the war is coming to a close…Thousands of college students marched down Wall St, shouting "Hell no, we won't go!"_

America, Arthur had supposed, was a wreck.

Not that it hadn't ever been a wreck before. The Civil War, Pearl Harbor, the Great Depression… even Kennedy and King's assassinations had left the country in shambles. And each time some tragedy struck his former colony, Arthur was stranded on his side of the pond with nothing to do but chew his fingernails and hope that America could pull through. And America _did_ pull through...but what Arthur regretted more than anything was his inability to help. Or rather... the fact that he was too proud to help. But even if he tried, Arthur was positive that it wouldn't work. He was _England._ America hated him, and that's just how things were.

But despite all of this, something inside of him snapped when he heard about Kent State. He was tired of watching the body counts on the news – at this rate, it seemed as though the entire American population would be dead within a year. And so, Arthur called the White House. He was shocked to discover that not only did the secretary not know who an "Alfred F. Jones" was, but the nation's name wasn't even in the directory. _Finally,_ after days of trying to ram a call through the Oval Office, Arthur found himself on the phone with an irritated President who didn't know where his own country was.

"That son-of-a-bitch never tells me where he is. You want to talk to him, you're going to have to find him yourself."

The moment he heard the rude _click_ on the other end of the receiver, Arthur made a decision. He wasn't sure if it had been the right one; looking back on it, he felt as though he had been a bit irrational. Irrational or not, he would have to withstand this preposterous traffic before finding a certain annoying American in a crowd of ten thousand protesters.

Brilliant.

Arthur let out a groan, punching a button on the dash to turn on the radio. He adjusted the dial until a familiar tune floated from the speakers:

_When I find myself in times of trouble_

_Mother Mary comes to me_

_Speaking words of wisdom, let it be_

_Let it be, Let it be_

_Let it be… **  
><strong>_

Arthur smiled to himself. "Paul, you cheeky chap. Following me all the way across the Pond, are you?" The music relaxed him, made him think of home. He sang along, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm as the conveyor of cars crept forward.

A few minutes later, Arthur spotted the first protesters. They were young – students from about eighteen years of age up to that of their late twenties. Their frayed bell bottoms scraped the ground, long hair and beards fluttering in the wind as they waved a giant sign: PEACE NOW! Clusters of them were scattered alongside the streets, smoking cigarettes and watching the passing cars with contempt. Arthur got the feeling that it wouldn't be long before the streets were packed with hippies. After much backing up and retrying and _God dammit why is this steering wheel on the wrong side of the bloody car!?..._he managed to parallel park in front of a bank.

Arthur stepped out onto the road, slamming the door with enough force to shatter the windows. "Bloody America…"

Just then a group of protesters walked by. Their sign read in bright red letters: THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!

Arthur shuddered. He shoved his hands into his pockets and joined the throng of Americans flowing into the main square.

It was a strange feeling, walking among the hippies. Arthur was grateful that he'd dressed casually – jeans with a dark blue T-shirt and a red scarf. He sported a pair of round purple shades that John had given him. He also happened to have an autographed photo in his wallet of him and The Beatles, although he would rather die than admit it was one of his most prized possessions.

Arthur looked around, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of America. Usually the idiot was easy to find, even in a crowd this size. Arthur imagined him triumphantly leading the peace march, hand held high in a peace sign and shouting anti-violence slogans at the top of his lungs. No doubt a crowd of hippies would be following him, cheering on and looking up at him as if he was a god, or some such rubbish. That was the thing about America: As idiotic as he was, his people loved him.

Well… most of them, anyway.

The crowd of protesters grew thick so that Arthur found himself nearly choking on the scent of pot. Peace sign flags waved from the skyscraper windows, city statues draped with anti-war signs. The mournful chords of a guitar floated over the crowd, and in front of him walked a parade of students carrying a cardboard casket. He stepped over blankets and dodged waving picket signs, but still no sign of America. A large stage was set up in the center of the square, where students were making speeches. Hoping that one of them was America, Arthur elbowed his way near the stage. He craned his neck to scan the faces of the hippies, but didn't recognize any of them. The girl at the microphone had long sandy-blonde hair and a tie-dye hair band. Arthur winced when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Violence seems to be the only thing this country is understanding right now!" She shouted, her voice echoing across the crowd. "Peace marches are nice. I mean I've seen them in Cleveland and Washington, Kent and Columbus… We all say nice things! We all give the peace sign and we all march and say, 'Peace NOW!' And what happens, man? The Man just stands and_ looks_ at us!"

After a few moments Arthur gathered that she had been at Kent State during the shootings. His hopes lifted - if America had been at the scene of the tragedy, there was a slight chance this girl would know where he was. He pushed his way to the staircase flanking the stage, leaning against it and waiting for her to finish. After a few minutes, her speech closed with the approving cheers from the crowd. Arthur glanced up to see her descending the stairs, necklaces jingling with each step. Bright forest green eyes flicked up to meet his, and he took off his glasses and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, my name is Arthur Kirkland."

She stared at him for a moment, then shook his hand with a firm grip. "Far out, an English dude! My name's Jen. How long've ya been in the states, Artie?"

Arthur tried not to flinch at the American variation of his name. "Just a few days. I came to watch the demonstration."

Jen quirked a sad smile. "Thanks for the support, man, we need it."

"No problem. If you don't mind, I have a question I'd like to ask you."

She waved a hand. "Shoot."

"I'm looking for an Alfred F. Jones. Do you know – "

The girl's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah, Alfred! You a friend of his?"

Arthur nearly sighed in relief. _Finally!_ "Not exactly. We're… acquaintances." _More like sworn enemies._

"Far out! You know, Alfred doesn't talk much about himself. Doesn't have a family or nothin, seems like."

Arthur smiled. Not only did she know who he was, but she seemed to know him fairly well. "Do you know where he is?"

"Oh yeah. He's hangin at Frank's pad. He's been real sick, you know, since the shootings and all. Doesn't eat or nothin." She shrugged. "But that's Alfred for you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Want a smoke?"

Arthur shook his head. "No thank you. You said Alfred doesn't eat. Does he does this often?"

She flicked a cigarette between her fingers and shoved the pack into her pocket. "Oh yeah. Al's not like the rest of us. He's been to Nam. He's killed people, watched his friends die out there. That'll fuck a dude up, havin to kill people when you don't want to."

A feeling of uneasiness settled in Arthur's stomach. "I see. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but would you mind taking me to him?"

The girl shook her head, cupping her hand around the cigarette to light it. "Sorry, dude. Alfred said no."

_"No?"_

"Nope. No guests, no officials, no friends, no family, nothin. He doesn't want _nobody _knowing where he is_." _She pulled the cig from her lips and blew a puff of smoke out in a lazy stream that curled in front of Arthur's face. "Rules are rules, dude."

Arthur mentally cursed. He had come this far, and there was no way he was giving up when he was so close. It was in times like this when being a nation representative came in handy. Arthur dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Jen laughed. "Dude, you can't buy me off!"

"It's not money." Alfred slipped out his autographed photo and handed it to her. She gave him an odd look before taking it, her eyes widening.

"Dude… is this real?"

He nodded.

"You hang with _The Beatles?"_

"They're good friends of mine. I can get you free tickets to the next concert, if you want. But only if you take me to Alfred."

Jen stared at him in disbelief. "You're shitting me!"

Arthur couldn't help but smile - that reaction never got old. "I can assure you, I'm telling the truth."

Jen laughed. "Well shit. Alfred's my friend and all, but _free tickets_, man..." She ran a hand through her tangled hair, chewing a lip. "Normally I'd say no, but you're obviously not from around here. You can't be with the military, so you're cool." She handed Arthur back his photo. "Alfred is going to kill me for this…Alright dude, we're phasing!"

Arthur blinked. "Sorry?"

She laughed. "Oh right, educated British dude. Just follow me, Amelia's in the back."

Arthur frowned. _Amelia?_ But Jen had already turned and darted through the crowd, her bracelets jingling and a tendril of cigarette smoke trailing behind her. He pushed his way through the demonstrators until the crowd thinned out on the edge of a parking lot. Arthur's eyes were immediately drawn to a brightly painted Volkswagen van, the words PEACE and LOVE swirling on the sides, along with a collage of flowers, happy faces, and peace signs. He was shocked when Jen started leading him in that direction.

"Is that… _your_ car?"

"What, Amelia? Oh no, she belongs to all of us. We use her to get around to protests. Technically she's Alfred's, but he lets us borrow her while he's in Nam. He's a cool head like that."

Arthur had to keep himself from gaping. This was _America's_ car? So it was worse than he thought...

Jen opened the driver's door and slid in, smiling down on him. "She doesn't bite, Artie! Come on in!"

"Arthur," he mumbled, opening the door and climbing into the van. The smell of pot was so thick that he had to concentrate just to keep himself from gagging. The engine rattled to life, the necklaces that hung from the rear-view swinging from side to side as Jen backed up. The windows were down, and a light breeze tickled Arthur's face as they began speeding between Chicago skyscrapers. Just then he remembered the name of the van he was riding in.

"Amelia, is it?"

"Yeah. Alfred named her but he won't tell us why. I think he had a girlfriend named Amelia once."

_Amelia Earhart._ Arthur remembered trying to explain to America that no, he _couldn't_ get married, because terrible things happened to humans when nations fell in love with them. But America never listened… **  
><strong>

"What?"

He looked up, realizing he'd said the name out loud. "Oh, nothing. She died, that's all."

"Aw, that sucks. How'd she die?"

Arthur turned back to look out the window. "Plane crash."

The rest of the ride was spent in friendly conversation. Jen told Arthur all about her travels, and how she came to be a hippie. She had always been against the war, but she was inspired to join the protests when her older brother was killed in Vietnam. She told him about Kent State, how their group had all driven up to Ohio to join the protest. How the National Guard had opened fire, how _scared_ she was, and how Alfred had cried all the way back to their camp.

"Alfred's a weird dude. He tries to act tough, but then somethin happens and he's all over the place."

She explained how Alfred was hiding from the government, because whenever they found him, he was drafted. He would disappear to Vietnam for a few months, then he'd come home.

"He gets real jittery. He keeps a knife on him, and he always has this scared look in his eyes, like he thinks someone's about to blow up or somethin."

The more he listened, the more worried Arthur became. What he didn't understand is why America couldn't just talk to his government and get this whole Vietnam business sorted out. When he asked Jen about this, she just laughed.

"The Man? You think the_ Man_ is going to help us, when I just watched them kill unarmed American citizens?"

She had a point.

It was about thirty minutes before they pulled into a run-down trailer park. The impressive architecture of Chicago had thinned out into a cramped huddle of older buildings and empty lots. Arthur's eyes wandered over the boarded up windows marred with graffiti, loose bricks strewn on the sidewalk overgrown with weeds. One lot was surrounded by a wire fence that looked as though it'd had too many bottles of whiskey. The van jolted as Jen drove over the curb, parking next to a trailer home.

"Well, we're here!"

Arthur opened the van door and stepped out onto the dry ground. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes, along with broken glass and a cigarette butt. An uncomfortable knot began to tie itself in his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding – that this was a side of America he was never supposed to see. World Meetings and Olympic Games were always held in wealthy districts so that the hosting nation could show off their country. Everyone knew that there was a bad side of town, but poverty was a private matter. To see another nation's 'East London' was like reading their diary full of deep, dark secrets.

Arthur chewed on his lip as he walked to the front door. A black cat sat on a fence post, its lime-green eyes watching him as a pink tongue swept across sharp teeth. He shuddered and jammed his hands into his pockets. _I don't belong here. Oh God, America is going to kill me._

Jen lifted a fist and banged on the door. "FRANK! GET YOUR LAZY ASS UP, THERE'S A BRITISH DUDE HERE!"

Arthur paled. "I'm sorry, but could you perhaps keep it down about the 'British' bit?"

She gave him an odd look. "With _that_ accent? Okay, if you say so… OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"

At last the handle turned to reveal a man with a fiery beard that almost reached his belly button. His shirtless chest was tanned to the point of almost looking orange, and his ears were heavy with piercings. A cigarette was carefully balanced between two grey fingernails.

"What's the fucking rush," He grumbled. His voice sounded detached, and Arthur could smell alcohol on his breath.

"Picked up this dude at the demonstration. He knows _The Beatles."_ She winked.

Frank looked Arthur up and down, his face emotionless. "Everyone and their fucking mother knows The Beatles, Jen."

"No, this dude _really_ knows 'em! He's gonna get us free tickets, right Artie?"

Arthur was so distracted by the smell that he barely realized she was talking to him. "What? Oh, yes. "

Jen put her hand on her hips and smirked. "See?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever." He opened the door the rest of the way, revealing a string of beads that hung in a curtain over the door. Arthur hesitated before brushing the beads aside, stepping into the trailer.

The smell was unbearable. It was a mixture of pot and incense – Arthur glanced around and saw at least three jars whirling up wisps of smoke. Blankets and magazines were scattered across the floor, along with a bag of half-eaten hamburger and fries in the corner. Arthur jumped when Jen's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Come on, he's in the back."

She led him through the maze of junk, down a cramped hallway to a door at the end of the hall. A tie-dye sheet hung over it, ripped at the bottom so that it hung in ragged threads.

"Well, this is it. You're on your own, Artie." Suddenly her eyes grew scared and she ran a nervous hand through her hair. "Hey… I just wanted you to know that Alfred's like my brother. I don't know why, I barely know him, but... I don't like to see him like this. If there's anything you could do to make him feel better…" She looked away, but Arthur had already seen a tear streak down her face.

He tried to pull a convincing smile. "I'll do my best."

She smiled back and gave his shoulder a playful punch. "Thanks, man." She turned and walked down the hall, and Arthur found himself alone.

He took a deep breath and asked himself what on earth had possessed him to do this.

_America needs help._

But the moment that thought left his mind, it was blasted away by the next one:

_But not from me._

Arthur held a hand up to his face and took a deep breath. Then he reached out and slowly pulled back the sheet, leaning in so that he could look around the room on the other side.

It was so hazy with smoke that Arthur could barely see. Beads and sheets hung from the ceiling, throwing sparkles and colors around the room. More incense was being burned in a corner, wisps of smoke curling in the square of light that shone from a single window. But what caught Arthur's attention was the small table set up by the bed.

Needles, and a syringe. Next to them was a small pile of white powder.

And sitting on the floor by bed, was the United States of America.

He was sitting with his legs crossed, tattered bell bottoms frayed across the floor. His chest was bare except for a leather fringed vest and a tangle of bead necklaces. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed in months – the Nantucket cowlick was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the bird's nest. But what scared Arthur the most was America's face. His eyes were usually bright blue and shining with excitement – now they were a watered-down greyish color, bloodshot with red. America was always grinning like an idiot, wishing everyone a great day and announcing some brilliant idea of his. Now his lips were pursed in an emotionless line, thin and cracked. He stared unblinking at the wall, hunched over and taking a pull from a cigarette.

Arthur expected a violent reaction, but America remained frozen in that position, his eyes not even flickering in his direction. Carefully, Arthur pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the room. America didn't move, didn't even blink.

After at least a minute, Arthur finally managed to find his voice. It came out scratchy with disbelief.

_"America?"_

America blinked, then his red eyes lifted to look at Arthur. He stared at him for a few moments, then he let out a humorless laugh.

"Nice, Frank. Sneak some LSD into my pop?" He shook his head. "I told you not to do that."

Arthur couldn't believe it. America thought he was hallucinating! "It's not LSD, Ameri – "

"Don't do it again." Alfred's voice had dropped to a warning tone. It took Arthur aback; he had never heard the American use that tone of voice before.

"America, listen to me, I'm really here – "

"SHUT UP!" In one fluid motion, America swept his hand into his vest and brought out an army knife. He pointed it in Arthur's direction, eyes wild. "Don't do it again, okay, Frank? Just don't."

"I'm not Frank!"

"I don't care who the fuck you are, just don't sneak LSD into my shit!"

"I didn't sneak any –"

Before Arthur could even react, America leapt to his feet and grabbed him by the throat. He banged him against the wall, fingers closing around Arthur's windpipe. His eyes were wild, rimmed red from lack of sleep and drug use. Arthur reached up to try and pry the hand off his neck, feeling the blood rush to his face.

"Americ – ch – plz – it's - _me_…"

America laughed. It wasn't a real one – it was fake and forced, mocking and bitter. Even his _laugh_ was wrong.

"Hahahaha! Really you, huh? Okay, if you wanna be a smart-ass… what happened on December 16th, 1773?"

"Th - buhstn - teeg - puhty…" Spots of color began swirling in his vision.

"HAHA! See, you're – " Something flickered in those wild eyes. "Wait. What did you say?"

"Bldy…Bustn… Tea Puhty!"

America's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. _"England?"_

All Arthur could manage to do was nodding.

"Holy shit…" America let go of Arthur's throat. He let out a gasping wheeze, staggering with his hands on his knees and drinking gallons of air. His shoulders heaved, throat burning where America's fingers had dug into the skin. America said nothing, staring at Arthur as if he had seen a ghost. When Arthur had enough oxygen in his lungs he gasped, "Bloody hell, America! What were you trying to do, _kill_ me!?"

America opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I… I didn't…" He swallowed, eyes flickering with fear. "How did you find me?"

Arthur folded his arms and glared at the American. "I followed the smell. Now I want you to tell me exactly what the bloody hell you're doing in the middle of a ghetto wasting yourself away on drugs."

America's eyes fell to the floor. He let out a long sigh, then walked over and sat down on the bed. He stared between his knees, taking another pull of the cigarette. The smoke floated up, curling around itself and licking the ceiling. "Nixon sent you?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. "No."

"The military, then?"

"No."

America gave him a strange look. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I – " suddenly Arthur's voice got stuck in his throat. _Say it. Just get it over with and say it._ "Mathew's been really worried about you." _Dammit._

America snorted. "Well Matt should have told you to leave me alone."

"He did."

America glared at him. "Look. If you've come to give me one of your old man speeches about making good decisions and pulling my fat self together, I don't want to hear it."

"I never said – "

"But you were gonna." America blew out a puff of smoke. "As if I don't have enough people screaming at me already. Go ahead, then. Call me fat, call me a stupid git and an idiot and a Yank, and then turn your little European ass around and don't come back."

Arthur gaped at him. "You really think I came all this way just to _yell_ at you?"

"You're yelling now, stupid."

"I most certainly am _not!"_

America curled a lip. "Just leave."

Arthur crossed his arms. "I didn't drag my arse all the way across your bloody country on the wrong side of the road just to be told to leave. Now America, you listen to me – "

"No!" America shouted, standing up. "No, England, I'm _not_ listening to you! I don't need your outdated advice anymore, because, newsflash! I'm my own fucking country now and I can handle it myself!"

Arthur swept a hand in the direction of drugs in the corner. "Oh, and I can see how well_ that's_ going."

America hunched over and rocked on the bed, shoving the cigarette into his mouth. "Shut up, you don't know what it's like."

"I know what it's like to be the only standing democracy in Europe, and I can assure you that the last thing on my mind was to curl up in some god-forsaken corner of East London and smoke opium."

America jumped up from his seat and threw up his hands. "Shut UP! Just – aauggh, why can't you leave me alone!? There's always something wrong with everything I do! America, don't talk with your mouth full, America, sit up straight, America, shut up, America America America, I am SO DONE with you and your stupid rules!"

"This isn't about rules, this is responsibility! You've got an entire country to run, and you're just sitting on your arse and getting high! Your bloody_ President_ doesn't even know where you are!"

That fake laughter again. "Hahaha! Wow, this just shows how ignorant you are because my 'bloody President' won't even let me into the _White House."_

Arthur's mouth fell open. "He – _what?"_

America crossed his arms. "Yup. Doesn't want to hear any of my whining about the war, so he keeps me busy in Nam. When I get back I try to hide, but he always finds me again." His eyes flicked up to Arthur and narrowed into red slits. "You're going to tell him where I am, aren't you?"

"No, why would I – "

"Don't lie, England." America groaned and raked his hands through his matted hair. "I knew it. I _knew_ this would happen!" He let out a growl of frustration and kicked the bed. "Dammit, England! Do you even _know_ what it's like out there? Do you ever think that war in the jungle might be even more hell than your cute little skirmishes with Germany? We've got helicopters now, and Napalm, and - and the fucking rain, it just never stops raining... this one dude, Lone Wolf, I watched him just sink into the mud and he was gone, just - just - _gone_ and he's probably still there, getting fossilized in that damn field..." His voice cracked and he lifted the cigarette to his lips, his fingers trembling. "We spoke Kiowa sometimes, and nobody could understand us. He… he reminded me of Mom." America seemed to have forgotten Arthur was there. His red eyes stared into space, muttering what sounded like a conversation under his breath: "Naw haun-day baht p'haydle-doe? Gyah pouie own sape hote ahn…"

Arthur was surprised to hear Alfred speak of his mother. It was rare, since he blamed himself for her death. Even more shocking was the sound of a Native American language. Arthur hadn't heard America speaking tribal tongues since he was a boy; come to think of it, he'd forgotten America even spoke them at all.

Watching his former colony rocking on the bed and whispering an unknown language under his breath, Arthur suddenly understood. He remembered those nights he spent curled into a ball on the floor in his living room, muttering his national anthem and children's nursery rhymes as if his life depended on it – as if saying 'God Save the Queen' over and over would make those blasted bombs _go away. _It never worked, of course, but it did wonders for making oneself feel better.

Arthur sighed and walked over to America, carefully lowering himself onto the bed. The mattress let out a whiny creak, and America jumped, red eyes darting to Arthur in surprise.

"I'm not going to tell Nixon where you are. I talked to him for a bit on the phone, but he just – well let's just say he's not a very chipper fellow."

America snorted and wiped his nose with the back of a dirty hand. "Ya think?"

Arthur smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He folded his hands between his legs, staring at the floor.

"Want a smoke?"

Arthur curled a lip. "No, idiot. There's no telling what rubbish you've put in there."

America shrugged. "You're missin out, dude."

"I highly doubt that."

The two of them sat in an awkward silence. Arthur's mind wheeled with a way to help the poor lad – after all, he didn't just come here to argue about drugs. Then, it hit him. It was the most insane, ridiculous, _crazy_ idea he'd ever gotten, but it just might work...

"Look. I have an idea, one that can get you out of this mess. It won't permanently fix your problem, but it should help to freshen you up a bit."

America reached to tap the edge of his cigarette into an ash tray by the bed. "Oh, I wanna hear _this_."

Arthur took a deep breath, asking himself why on earth he was offering this, but he forced himself to say it before he changed his mind. "Why don't you come to London?"

There was a pause as America stared at him. When he saw that Arthur was being serious, he let out a guffaw of laughter. "L_ondon?_ Did you really just ask that?"

Arthur felt the heat rise to his face but he commanded himself not to withdraw the offer. "You can stay for as long as you want. You'd be surprised at how well it works – Seychelles and India stayed in London from time to time and – "

"Whoa, whoa , _whoa!_ Are you comparing me to Seychelles and India?"

_Bullocks. _Arthur had forgotten the golden rule: Never, EVER imply that America was still a colony. He tried to backtrack. "No."

"Yes you are."

"Just because I mentioned them, doesn't mean – "

"Seriously? What part of I AM MY OWN FUCKING COUNTRY do you not understand?"

"America, I just think that it's a good idea for you to –"

"I don't need your help! I'm not your 'little brother', or whatever you're imagining behind those fat eyebrows of yours. I don't come crying to you when I need something, okay? That's your thing, not mine!"

Arthur scoffed. _"Excuse_ me?"

America rolled his eyes. "The Great War, WWII…any of this ring a bell?"

Arthur felt anger boil in his veins. "That was a completely different situation!"

"Yeah? Well you were _weak_. You couldn't handle it yourself, and so you came whining to me about it." America flicked his cigarette butt into the container by his bed. "_Pathetic._ Do you see _me_ asking anyone else for help?" He picked up a second one and cupped his hand around it to light it. "Didn't think so."

"America... part being a powerful Nation is knowing when to ask for help."

"I'm the U.S. of fucking A. I don't _need_ help."

Arthur stared at the gaunt face of the young Nation, his bloodshot eyes and untamed hair, the ragged curtains that hung from the ceiling in strips. He watched the tendrils of smoke rise to the ceiling, wrapping around America's fingers, holding him prisoner in this haze. And then his heart started to ache. It didn't matter how much America insisted that they weren't related – to Arthur, he was still his little brother. He cheered when the first man walked on the moon and planted that American flag, he got worried sick when he heard about the assassinations. Even though he never acted like it, he _cared,_ and the fact that he was here in this wreck of a place was proof of that. Arthur always wanted what was best for America, and it ripped out his heart to see his former colony like this. But he knew that he had lost. America had made up his mind, and that was that. Arthur's eyes drifted to the floor.

"Just… think about it. Okay?"

America scoffed, taking a pull from his cigarette. He didn't even look up at Arthur as he said, "Get out of here, England."

Arthur felt like someone had thrown a dart into his chest. He sighed and walked to the curtain, taking one last look at America.

He was reaching for a syringe.

Arthur wasn't sure where it came from, but he felt his eyes heat up. As he stepped through the curtain and let it close behind him, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

When he walked into the main room of the trailer, Frank and Jen were in the middle of an argument.

"What the fuck, Jen? You heard what Alfred said, they'll draft him!"

"He's _English_! How the hell is he gonna draft him if he's not even American?"

"I don't care what fucking country he's from, the Man sent him and now Alfred's gonna be back in Nam! And it'll be _your _fault!"

Jen looked on the verge of tears. "He's here to help! He's gonna make Alfred better, he said so!"

"Make Alfred better," Frank scoffed. "You heard the screamin', they hate each other!"

"I don't _know!"_ Jen cried, throwing up her hands. "He said they were acquaintances, and I just thought – "

"Well you thought wrong. Get that Limey out of here before he makes Alfred worse."

"Frank, please, just give it a chance – "

"No, he's right."

The two of them turned towards Arthur, startled. He stared at the ground. "I've just made things worse. I have no business being here, I should have never came. I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble."

Jen looked at him with wide eyes – the eyes of a girl begging him to save her country. Arthur could hardly bare to keep eye contact as he said, "I really tried. I'm sorry."

Jen's eyes watered but she managed to keep herself from crying. "Th – that's okay…. I guess I can take you back downtown."

The ride back was spent in an awkward silence. At last the rickety van pulled up next to the square, where a few protesters were still clustered on the lawn.

"Thank you very much for your help," Arthur said. "I really am sorry about all that."

"Nah, it's fine. I just thought… I dunno." She sighed, her fingers scratching the cover of the steering wheel. "You don't have to get us those tickets."

Arthur smiled. "Of course I do." He held out a hand. "It was very nice meeting you, Jen."

She managed a weak smile, shaking it. "You too, Artie – uh, Arthur. But I have one question."

"Yes?"

"How do you know Alfred?"

Arthur's eyes fell to the ground. "I…I raised him."

"So you're family?" **  
><strong>

A lump formed in Arthur's throat. He tried to swallow it, but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it was always there. His eyes wandered outside to stare at the American flag waving at half-mast on top of a skyscraper.

"We used to be."

* * *

><p><strong>Hippie SlangTranslations: **

**Far out - cool**

**pad - a house/apartment, etc. **

**We're phasing! - Let's go!**

**cool head - nice guy**

**pop - soda (This is south-western slang)**

**Naw haun-day baht p'haydle-doe? Gyah pouie own sape hote ahn - Was today a good day? It was peaceful, the rain is coming. (That was a sarcastic conversation. There aren't many translators out there for Kiowa, so I made due with what I could find.)**

**History Notes:**

**Peace Protests in Chicago - I based this scene off of a news broadcast I found on ABC. Jen's speech is a direct quote from a speech made by a Kent State student who was there during the shootings. Almost 20,000 students were packed into the city center. **

**The Beatles - (PLEASE tell me you know who these guys are...) An English rock band that formed in Liverpool, England in 1960. The members were John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, and they became known as the greatest and most influential musical group of the rock era. Their song, 'Let it Be' was released on May 8, 1970 and quickly became one of the top hits both in the UK and America.**

**Hippie life style - Hippies lived in such a way that it was easy to travel. They normally went in groups, and brightly-painted colored Volkswagen vans were the stereotypical hippie ride. If they did live in a home, it was usually an inexpensive trailer home, one that was easy to move out of. Hippies were rarely employed, and so they had to make due with what little money they had, although many of them used their parents' money. **

**Amelia Earhart - She was the first woman pilot to fly solo across the Atlantic ocean in 1932. She was a national icon, and broke the heart of millions when she disappeared over the Pacific while attempting a world flight in 1937.**

**Drug use in the 70's - The Hippie movement saw a huge rise in the use of drugs. Many believed that drugs were a way of heightening awareness and finding the inner conscience. LSD is a hallucinogen, meaning it makes you see things that aren't there. **

**Nixon Administration - President Richard Nixon was an unusual politician, because he was an introvert. Although charismatic during speeches to the public, he was very reclusive and rarely let anyone come and speak with him in the White House. The entire administration soon became paranoid, and there wasn't any trust among the members of the cabinet. In the tapes discovered after Watergate, the American public was shocked to hear a slew of naughty words coming from their president's mouth - one of his favorites was SOB. **

**England's pleas for help - Both during WWI and WWII, England found itself struggling to win the war. During WWI, Russia withdrew due to its Revolution, leaving England minus one ally. In WWII, literally EVERY SINGLE COUNTRY in Europe was either taken over by Germany, part of the Axis, or neutral EXCEPT FOR BRITAIN. And not only that, but between September 1940 and May 1941, more than 100 tons of high explosives were dropped on 16 British cities. They were in desperate need of American help, and if it hadn't been for Pearl Harbor, they might not have gotten it on time. Scary thought, guys. **

**AN: America is going to be a little OOC until he gets his head straight. If any of this story starts to sound familiar, that's because I got my inspiration from Forrest Gump by Winston Groom and an AMAZING book called The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. You should totally read it! Anyways, thanks for reading. Peace, love, and... reviews! :D **


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